Shout out

January 24, 2013

Last night I practiced meditation which seemed a lot more like struggling with myself and severe physical discomfort. Shifted, scratched, overheated, stretched, fidgeted, spun, tore off my shirt in overheated exasperation, attempted to bend my knees, fought off the concerns about the up-and-coming clinic visit, banging resounded from the neighbors disturbed my serene thoughts, barking alarmed dogs and incredulous drone of constant dratted mosquitoes in my ear. Deemed my meditation “unsuccessful” and shrugged it off realizing I can practice again tomorrow!

Two brilliantly mismatched women and a slight girl of about five were efficiently waiting on the concrete steps at 7:20am as Joao pulled into the unmarked health clinic lot. We all chirped good morning to one another and calmly kept track of our place in line as patient after patient approached the stark off-white building to receive medical attention. Sliding doors opened at exactly 8:03am and everyone politely lined-up to tear their assigned paper number starting at 783 from the roller near the doorway. One of the last to arrive, a obviously home-dyed job middle-aged woman with a congenital limp, elaborately tattooed stubby legs plodded defiantly up to the front desk and boldly checked-in before anyone could tackle her. What gall! None of the other witnesses created a stir so I sat in glaring silence as well.

I confidently set up my medical appointment for tomorrow at 4:00pm. Pretty anticlimactic since I put on my best shorts and dressy black top, snappy earrings and flip flops with a smattering of subtle lipstick to accessorize my gauze bandage-bound instep to upper calf. May in fact walk to the clinic tomorrow (it took me half an hour to saunter home this morning, past the sewage-tainted lagoon and around several corners) and don my fancy wooden cane. I’ll surely be sweating and in out-of-control pain upon arrival. Everyone claims I need to chora muito (cry like your life is ending) or I will not get prompt orthopedic service and surgery will demora (be delayed until the far future.) 

Constant shouting occurs over fences, thru gates, horns honking to announce the arrival of certified mail, water jug delivery, pharmaceutical paraphernalia, the stern bank representative, firefighters, appearance of construction material, visitors, maid, manicurist, groceries, pizza, ice, picole (popsicles,) service workers and nutrition-less bread. Never a dull moment.

Rafael, the eight year old who comes and goes next door ate six boxes of candies that were purchased to attract the rats to their demise. Jorge searched for the enticing goods to set the traps prior to leaving town for a few weeks. He was furious and insisted on calling a family meeting to interrogate each of them, one-by-one, about the missing sweets. No one fessed-up. Much later, Gabriel, the older brother, found the stash of unoccupied packages in Rafael’s room, in the shadows under the bed. Grandma had a good laugh over it and recounted the story to Joao over the fence later in the day. I’m certain his horrid stomach ache was punishment enough. Rafa rode for over seven hours in the back seat of the car to Porto Alegre with the weight of the candy and his conscious.